


observations on performance are purely speculation

by awwpants



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragons, Love at First Sight, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:56:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3194399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awwpants/pseuds/awwpants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt on the da kink meme: "The Inquisitor falls head over heels in love with their LI at first sight, falling over themselves to get their attention like a fool. However, their LI still has feelings for someone else."</p>
            </blockquote>





	observations on performance are purely speculation

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt can be found here: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/12149.html?thread=47816309#t47816309
> 
> Thanks to [onyourleft](http://archiveofourown.org/users/onyourleft) for making this readable. You go, buddy! Title comes from Portal 2.

Maxwell Trevelyan likes to fancy himself a dashing rogue, full of worldly knowledge, and a charming demeanor only outmatched by two-thirds of his family and an Antivan baker he'd met once at his oldest sister's wedding. So, of course, the first time he meets the love of his not entirely short life, he says what most poets could only dream of preserving in verse.

"Hi," is what he says, except it sounds a lot more like choking and sad failure.

Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition forces, is magnanimous enough to move past this false start with all the grace of someone who knows when it's best to ignore the fool with the glowing hand. He nods, once, and turns to Cassandra. "The way to the temple should be clear, Leliana will meet you there," he says. It's not exactly the declaration of love that Maxwell had been hoping for, but he's old enough to realize the stories published in The Randy Dowager are often misleading and not at all an accurate basis for one's love life. Still, he had hoped.

"I think he likes me," Maxwell says to no one in particular as he watches Cullen escort an injured soldier away from the fighting.

Varric pats him on the arm and says "Sure, kid," with only the slightest trace of sincerity, before following after Cassandra and Solas.

It's the beginning of a beautiful love story.

*

"All that I am saying is I think we should have a group of scouts dedicated to finding and gathering elfroot for the Inquisition. This should be priority number one," says Maxwell, following Cullen down the stairs from the ramparts, gesturing wildly with his hands to emphasize the importance of his words. When they reach the bottom step, he misses, too focused on making a point, and catches himself by digging his fingers into the stone wall to his left. He swears, quiet enough so no one else hears, and runs a hand through his hair in case anyone was watching. There's an image of the noble Inquisitor he wants to maintain.

Cullen stops to look at him for a moment, eyebrows raised, before continuing on toward where some of his men are training. "Sometimes," he says, "I wonder if you've made a list of ideas that you're just waiting to spring on me. Do you ever bring this up with anyone else?"

Maxwell grins. "Maybe I just want to spend time with you."

"Inquisitor," Cullen starts, sounding far too serious for their conversation, but then his tone changes and he says, "Is there nothing else you should be doing right now?"

"Probably," Maxwell shrugs. Definitely, but it can wait. "Dorian was going to explain to me how magic works, again. He had a picture book this time and everything. We made it five whole minutes, but then the ravens started making noise and he said I was giving him a headache and to leave before he set us both on fire."

"I see."

"It's not that I don't understand, it's that he finds the entire exercise frustrating and I enjoy watching him try to remain civil in the face of unrepentant stupidity."

"Of course."

"It's an honor thing, he insulted my skills with a dagger."

Cullen has stopped listening.

"Sometimes you swing wide and the blade gets stuck in a table, it could happen to anyone!" Maxwell calls out to Cullen's retreating back. Around him a handful of people within earshot are all looking away in a manner that could almost be mistaken for casual if they were better actors. So much for his image. He takes a deep breath and jogs to catch up.

"There's this villa in The Emerald Graves," says Maxwell, retaking his place at Cullen's side. One of the newer recruits is trying to best one of Leliana's scouts in a mock fight. The recruit has some talent with a broadsword, but she's outclassed against the scout's years in the field; it'll be a short match. "It's abandoned and a little bit haunted, but it has this fountain that catches the sunlight during the day and scatters it all over the courtyard."

Cullen signals for the two in the training ring to stop and for a different pair to take their place. "I," he frowns, glancing over at Maxwell. "I have no idea what it is you're talking about."

"I thought it would be a nice place to go," says Maxwell with a shrug. "When you have the time."

"A haunted villa in the middle of a forest full of red templars?"

"I didn't know your standards were so high."

Cullen laughs at that. "As much as I'd like to, sadly I don't have the time. More and more people keep arriving here and many of them wish to join the fight. We hardly have enough soldiers to teach them how to hold a sword properly, let alone be ready for any real work outside these walls." As if on cue one of the recruits in the ring shouts as both his sword and shield are knocked from his hands.

"Right," says Maxwell, "of course." He had to ask at least.

Cullen looks at him again, this time giving his full attention, eyes trailing down Maxwell's cheek and settling at his chin. "When did you get that?" he asks, and before Maxwell can ask what _that_ is, Cullen is reaching out and taking hold of his face. His touch is light and his hands are warm as he tilts Maxwell's head back slightly. "That wasn't there before you left."

"What, this?" Maxwell reaches up, fingers brushing Cullen's, and touches the cut that extends from his bottom lip, under his chin, and back toward his jugular. It's shallow enough that it can be difficult to see in most light, almost hidden in his stubble. "Bandits. Ran into them on the way back here. I saw the first two, missed the third one."

They stand there like that, not moving for long seconds that feel like years. "It's not that deep," says Maxwell, needing to fill the silence, "barely even a scratch."

"Right," says Cullen, pulling away, putting some distance between them. "I should really get back to work."

"Sure."

Cullen starts to turn, but says, "I'm glad you're okay," and, "Maybe when this is over I'll take you up on that offer of a haunted villa." Then he takes off toward the other side of the ring to help one of the recruits with their armour.

Maxwell is left standing alone, heart thudding in his chest.

*

The best thing about The Hissing Wastes, besides the giant spiders, sun bleached skeletal remains, and occasional sad and withered tree, is of course all the sand. Everywhere, sand. Miles of sand in every direction, unavoidable and clinging to clothes, getting into boots and remaining there long after leaving this miserable desert. If Maxwell never steps foot here again it will be too soon.

"I believe we have been here before," Cassandra says, and, yes, there's a tree with scorch marks down the side from when they passed through earlier and a wyvern tried to eat Dorian. A little further away is the wyvern corpse now partially buried in the vast, unending, horrible sand.

"It does look familiar, yes, but," Maxwell flounders when an excuse doesn't immediately come to mind.

"If we are lost then perhaps we should return to camp," says Solas. "It shouldn't be too hard to find from here."

Sometimes Maxwell likes to imagine a world in which his companions, his _friends_ , didn't question his leadership and instead were in constant awe of him and his prowess in battle. It would, at the very least, make leading them on a wild nug chase based on the accounts of a somewhat unhinged man in the tavern back at Skyhold a little easier to do without all the scrutiny. "We're not lost," he says instead, "we're just not where we should be."

"And where is that, exactly?" asks Dorian.

"That," Maxwell starts, turning to face his companions, "would be an oasis sitting between two rocky cliffs." He leaves out the part about what's in the oasis, however. An old statue left over from the Exalted Age, features worn away, and made unrecognizable by time, apparently. If the man in the tavern is to be believed. He'd also said that leaving an offering of something small yet personal, and taking one of the flowers that grows up around it will help love find you. Also, possibly, good fortune and harvest. That part had been less clear and more of a drunken ramble. Either way, it doesn't hurt to try as long as they're in the area.

"We've been walking in circles for hours and I have seen nothing like that," says Cassandra.

Solas has his staff dug into the ground so that he can use it for support. He looks exhausted, they all do. "She's right. I have seen nothing that matches that description."

"There's sand in my hair," says Dorian, making a valid point.

"Yeah, alright," says Maxwell, though he scans the area once more as if this time he'll notice something new. He doesn't. Only desert and sand and, a little far off, a couple of Gurns.

The disappointment at having failed to find what he was looking for doesn't come. Instead, as they make their way toward what is hopefully their nearest campsite, the long hours of walking and fighting and exploring finally begin to catch up. With only the goal of warm food, a soft bedroll, and a few hours of sleep each step feels more weighted down than the last.

There's a roar that comes from the shadows on a distant mountain before a high dragon takes flight, circling the skies.

"At least we weren't after that," Dorian mutters, mostly to himself.

"Now that's a good idea..." Maxwell trails off into a yawn.

"Oh, yes, another brilliant idea from Dorian. I do love dragons."

*

After his return to Skyhold Maxwell catches Cullen in the garden having just come out of the small chantry. It's the first time he's seen him in almost a month and if it hadn't been for the miserable state of his clothes and hygiene he would have made Cullen his first stop instead of his third. "I brought little cakes from Val Royeaux," he says by way of greeting.

"You've returned," Cullen sounds surprised, but not unhappy. "The forward scouts said you wouldn't make it back until tomorrow."

"It's amazing what kind of motivation a hot bath can be."

Cullen laughs in agreement, and it's soft and bright and Maxwell can't help but to smile in response. It's an effort not to stare, so he holds up the paper box with its delicate printed pattern and says, "Cakes. _Orlesian_."

"For me?" Cullen looks from the box to Maxwell and back.

"For Josephine, actually," Maxwell says, leading them to one of the small benches along the outer wall of the garden. He waits for Cullen to take the seat next to him before continuing. "She mentioned wanting these a while ago and we had to stop in Val Royeaux on the way back, so," he shrugs, "but there are two left and I thought I'd share with my favorite Inquisition Commander."

"Do you know many?"

Maxwell opens the box and pulls out one of the cakes, handing it over to Cullen. "You're very funny; eat your little Orlesian cake." Around them the garden is quiet as most people have found better places to be this late in the day. The sun is setting, turning the sky pink and orange and, farther away, tinged green from the breach. It's the most relaxed he's felt in too long.

*

"You know what your problem is, kid," Varric says, leaping out of the way as the dragon takes a swipe at him, then fires a few bolts into its hide, "you're so focused on one thing that you don't see what's going on around you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Maxwell darts under a wing before it knocks him over and nearly trips on the dragon's tail when it comes up behind him. "I see everything," he says. "Eventually."

Cassandra grunts, taking a few swings hard enough to bring any lesser creature to its knees. The dragon, however, is largely unaffected. "Is this really the best time to be discussing the Inquisitor's personal life?" She strikes again with enough force to cut deep into the dragon's leg.

"Seeker, I--" Whatever Varric is planning to say gets sidelined when the dragon rears back to take a deep breath before it attempts to set them all on fire.

Maxwell is too close to get away in time, but perhaps the Maker really is on his side because Cassandra is there with her shield that keeps the flames at bay. The heat is almost overwhelming, but they're in a bad spot so the only option is to wait it out. Cassandra shifts, her mouth pressed in a tight line, and the moment the attack stops she pulls her shield off and throws it to the ground like it burned. Which, actually, it may have. Fortunately there are other ones littered around the area that were left by previous warriors. Unfortunately most of those warriors are still here too, in a way, so how good could their equipment have been?

"Still alive?" Dorian calls from the safest possible distance that's still within optimal range for being of any real use.

Maxwell waves his hand in a vague gesture that he can only hope conveys _still alive, for now_ and _I've made a terrible mistake_.

"Tell me again why we brought Sparkler and his fireballs with us to a fire fight?" asks Varric.

"He said he loved dragons."

"I said it _sarcastically!_ " Dorian yells, not sarcastically.

Maxwell moves into a flanking position, trying to keep to its blindspot. If he can time this right he might even make it out of this uneaten. He only has a heartbeat to prepare before it leans down to snap it's very large, very sharp teeth at Cassandra. Now or never, he thinks, then uses the opening to climb onto the dragons back and sink his daggers into its neck.

Then there's the sound of the dragons roar. It's so loud that it vibrates throughout Maxwell's body, and echos inside his skull leaving him disoriented and a little sick. Or that could be the dragon trying to throw him off. It nearly succeeds, but he has determination and a strong desire not to die on his side, so he manages to hold on tighter and push his blades in deeper. Still not deep enough to kill, though, but that's what friends are for.

Cassandra positions herself in front of Varric while he takes the few extra seconds he needs to line up another shot. She's got him protected from whatever the dragon can throw at them. "Any time, Varric."

"Just a little more-" he fires a last shot directly into the dragon's heart. If anyone asked, Maxwell would swear in that moment everything went silent. No wind, no fire eating away trees, not even his own heart. Nothing. Then, like an explosion, all of the noise comes back. The dragon gives a final roar, a scream more accurately, before it falls to the ground. It's Cassandra who delivers the killing blow.

"That went well, I think," says Maxwell, falling back onto solid ground. His legs are shaking, he notes distantly, like it's happening to someone else. The world is a little too bright, too, and he's covered in blood that he's only mostly sure isn't his own. There's also the taste of iron in his mouth. Before this he'd never really had a strong opinion on dragons one way or the other. Right now, though, he can safely say he's not their biggest fan. "I'm just going to sit down." He collapses next to his new, somewhat deceased friend.

"We lived." Dorian sounds entirely too surprised by this.

Cassandra pokes at the dragon with her boot, testing whether or not it's really dead. "We should search the area, they usually hoard their treasure nearby."

"Taking the valuables off the charred remains of hapless adventurers, my favorite," says Varric, reholstering Bianca.

Dorian taps the dragon with the end of his staff as if he wants to touch it, but also doesn't want to get too close. "You've done this before?"

"You really should read my book."

Maxwell groans and waves them off. When he can move again he has a slightly different idea than dragon treasure.

*

"You brought me the head of a dragon mounted to a plaque," says Cullen, not sounding at all pleased, appreciative, or smitted. He also keeps crossing and uncrossing his arms like he's not sure what to do with them. Overall he seems rather unhappy. It's not a good sign.

"Yes?"

Cullen uncrosses his arms again, letting them drop to his sides. "You fought a dragon."

"Yes."

"You fought a dragon, killed it, had it stuffed and mounted like some sort of Orlesian trophy hunter, and carried it all the way back here so you could give it to me." The longer Cullen speaks the more his voice changes from just unhappy to something rough and small. Scared, maybe?

"That is correct," Maxwell says, unsure if that's the right answer anymore.

Cullen is still, staring at Maxwell every inch the powerful Commander. It's unnerving, being the subject of whatever is going on in his head at the moment. "You fought a high dragon."

"I don't know what's happening right now," says Maxwell. "Do you not like the gift?"

"I don't know what to do with it."

"Okay so-"

"You could have _died_. You could have died and then I-" Cullen cuts himself off, takes a deep breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth, trying to calm down, and says, "the Inquisition would be without a leader. You can't just go running off into these situations as if it's only your life on the line; a lot of people depend on you. We can't win without you."

"I..." Hadn't thought about that at all. "Yeah, you're right." Maxwell pushes himself off of the wall he'd been leaning against and slowly makes his way over to Cullen. He doesn't know what he's doing, has never really known, but Cullen is angry at him because of his terrible plans and Maxwell just wants to fix it. He wants to make things better. "I'm sorry."

Cullen takes another deep breath, letting it out slowly, but he avoids making eye contact with Maxwell, choosing instead to stare at a spot on the opposite wall. "What is it you want from me?"

Oh. Maxwell has loved Cullen from that first day they met and more every day since. There's an ache in his heart when he thinks on if they'd never met, if circumstances had been different, if he had never gotten the chance to meet this one person in all of Thedas who, to him, is perfect. Faults and all. He can't say that. "Your friendship," he says instead. It's the truth, if not all of it. "If that's all you'll give me then I will take it and be grateful." He'd take less, even.

"But that's not all, is it."

Maxwell shrugs, afraid to give voice to anything else.

"I can't," says Cullen, finally looking him in the eye. "There's someone... no, I mean there _was_ someone, but. Please understand that I care for you, I do, but my friendship is all that I can offer. Anything more than that and I can't..."

There's a loud ringing in Maxwell's ears and he's afraid that if he looks down he won't see a knife sticking out from his chest, though he can feel it. He'd rather this pain be real, physical, because if he’s bleeding then a healer can fix him. "I understand," he says, trying for light and adds a smile he can almost believe doesn't fall flat.

"I'm sorry." Cullen reaches out, then stops himself and lets his hand fall back to his side.

"No, it's-" _not fine_ , he can't say it, "you don't have to be sorry." There's not enough air in the room. "Anyway, I should... I promised someone I'd do something. Very important Inquisitor things, you see."

"Right, yes," says Cullen. At least they're both pretending.

"Yeah," Maxwell nods. "Yeah."

*

There really isn't much to be said about the floors in the library. They're hard, they're cold, and with his face pressed against them as he sprawls out in a fit of abject despair, they're more than a little uncomfortable. He'd gone to Varric first, but when Varric wasn't readily available, probably off galavanting around the countryside being _happy_ , he'd gone to Cole. Also missing, likely with Varric. Finally to Dorian who, in a show of friendship and camaraderie, has his feet propped up on top of Maxwell's spine.

"As much as I'm enjoying," Dorian pauses, lowering his book enough to really look at the situation, "whatever it is that you're doing. I am afraid it looks a bit like I've killed the Inquisitor and have decided to use him as a decorative area rug."

"I'm going to die alone, probably eaten by a bear," Maxwell says, words getting muffled by the fact that his face is still pressed into the ground.

"I see." Dorian turns a page in his book, then make a noise of disgust. "Does no one do any research in Southern Thedas before deciding to write all about Tevinter? And don't you think you're being a little melodramatic?"

"My hand glows," says Maxwell. "I'm allowed to be as dramatic as I like."

"I have no argument for that." Dorian snaps his book shut and tosses it into the small, ever growing pile on the floor next to him. "Do you want my advice?"

"Is it any good?"

"Probably not," Dorian admits, then continues anyway, "the way I see it you can do either one of two things: stop wallowing in self pity and move on, or drown your sorrows in whatever is available and bury your feelings as deep as they'll go."

"You're right, that wasn't very good," says Maxwell. "Couldn't you just tell me something nice and encouraging? Cheer up, Max, everything will work out and be perfect, you'll see."

"I try to make it a point not to lie to my friends."

Maxwell grabs the closest book within reach and throws it at Dorian's head.

"You missed."

Maybe he should have looked harder for Cole instead.

*

It's not the easiest thing, maintaining the balance between friendship and being desperately in love with someone who doesn't feel the same. But Maxwell has to try. Sometimes there are moments where his equilibrium shifts and he's on a ledge tilting into the void, but he can't let himself fall. He knows, he's always known, even if he didn't allow himself to think on it, if he pushed then Cullen would pull away. Ridiculous ventures in dragons and ancient statues were wishful thinking, nothing more. Still though, he had hoped.

Thinking on it makes him restless, yet he can't stop himself. It keeps him up at night. Which is how in the early hours, long before Skyhold is awake, he finds himself at the war table, alone, trying to work out where to go next. There's so much work to be done and he's afraid that his side projects have only been wasting time.

"It seems there are a few of us who cannot sleep."

Maxwell startles and looks up to see Leliana standing in the doorway. He didn't hear her approach, he never does. "I didn't hear you coming."

"I didn't want you to," she says, walking over and moving a marker on the table closer to Denerim. "You and the Commander are close."

He wants to lie, to hide behind a blank mask, but he's never trained for that and he's not in Orlais with a porcelain face to cover his own. It probably wouldn't matter anyway. "Yes," he says, "I think."

Leliana considers him for a few seconds. "I met Commander Cullen once, years ago in Ferelden. He..." she trails off, mouth pressed in a thin line and for a moment she looks older, tired. Then the moment fades away and she continues. "He doesn't remember, of course, it was only a minute or two and we never spoke directly, but he is one of the many things from then that I cannot forget. He's changed now, better, and still I wonder what it is he cannot forget."

Maxwell feels that there's something he's missing, or maybe something he should be doing. Instead he asks, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Cullen was outside when I came in, it would seem he's also unable to sleep."

That's his cue to leave. He nods at Leliana, offering a quiet _goodnight_.

It isn't too difficult finding Cullen; he's outside the main hall seated on the landing halfway down the stairs with his legs stretched out on top of the steps. His shoulders stiffen briefly when Maxwell approaches, but relax again just as quick.

"And I really thought I'd be alone out here.”

"I'd be surprised to find there's any privacy in Skyhold at all," says Maxwell, taking a seat beside Cullen. Not too close. "I hear there are spies everywhere."

Cullen's laugh is soft, almost lost in the space between them. "I have heard that rumor."

"So..." Maxwell doesn't know where to start. "I had an interesting conversation with Leliana."

"Oh?"

"I think she's worried about you," Maxwell continues, trying to get comfortable. The steps, like everything else in the Frostbacks, are far too cold, especially at night. 

Cullen's eyes narrow, his expression turning hard. All of the warmth and good humour from moments earlier drain away. "I'm fine," he says, and it's not clear who he's trying to convince.

Maxwell sighs, he’s never been any good at this. "If that were true then you wouldn't be out here, in the _cold_ ," always so damn cold, "three hours before the sun rises, alone."

"You're here too," says Cullen.

"Exactly."

Cullen grows quiet again and Maxwell is left thinking of all the things he would do to make this man happy. Save the world, of course, but that would be just the start. He'd storm the Black City, he'd return the Maker to his golden throne and demand that he fix everything that's gone wrong in the last thousand years or so. And still he would do more.

Maxwell starts to get up. "I should go."

"No, wait." Cullen grabs his hand, gently pulls him back down, and doesn't let go. "It's," he starts, stops, takes a deep breath and lets it out, "It's better with you here. I couldn't sleep. It was too hot in my room and there wasn't... it felt like there wasn't enough air. Most nights aren't this bad."

There's not much Maxwell can say to that, at least nothing he can think of when he's so afraid of saying the wrong thing, so he squeezes Cullen's hand, once, and holds on. "I'll stay," he says, knocking their shoulders together, because they're friends and that's what friends do. It's what Cullen asked for.

*

The absolute worst thing about Orlais is just how very _Orlesian_ it is. There's an attempted political coup, an assassination plot, and an upheaval in their rulership all in one night, and everyone in attendance carries on as if none of it is even worthy of comment. Acting as though it's all perfectly fine. Yes, the Grand Duchess was in league with an ancient Tevinter magister, but this ham tastes of despair and that's far more interesting. Frankly, Maxwell doesn't understand how the Orlesian nobility can manage to play The Game day in and day out without going mad. Or maybe they have and that explains the masks? Surely there is someone he can ask about that.

It's easy enough to slip out of the ballroom unnoticed when everyone is celebrating, though the two nobles loudly discussing their distaste for the wine did provide a useful distraction. Outside on the balcony, with the cool night air, and the full moon overhead it's the best he's felt since arriving at the palace. Never in his life has he imagined wielding this much political power. The youngest child of the Bann of Ostwick deciding the ruler of Orlais... If he allows himself to think on it too long, that creeping terror of inevitable failure will return.

"Ah, here you are," says Josephine, joining him outside. "Didn't want to celebrate with everyone else?"

"I'm not really one for all of," Maxwell waves his hand around to indicate Orlais in general, "this."

Josephine laughs. "How about a dance then, at least."

"Of course," Maxwell says. He bows, then offers Josephine his arm. "Lady Montilyet." His family would be so proud to learn that years of proper nobility training have not gone entirely to waste. The music playing inside the ballroom carries out to them, guiding Maxwell as his leads Josephine around the balcony. It's all too familiar, even if the location is new.

Maxwell lets himself have this moment where it's just him and a beautiful woman dancing together. Maybe this can be enough. He's some manner of hero, though it's not a title he wears comfortably yet. He also has people who care about him deeply, and since the realities of this war are impossible to keep at bay, maybe it's time to take comfort in everything he has. All of his ridiculous notions of love are meaningless if they lose, anyway, so maybe needs to let go. Of course, as he thinks that, Cullen steps out onto the balcony and that familiar ache in his chest returns to remind him that some things are easier said than done.

"Well, I should return to ball. I fear what Sera may do if no one is watching," says Josephine, letting go of Maxwell and stepping away.

Cullen waits until they're alone before he says, "I was looking for you."

"And here I am," says Maxwell, spreading his arms wide. "You found me."

"You," Cullen cuts himself off, shutting his mouth, jaw going stiff. He breathes deep, through his nose, then opens his mouth again, only to reconsider. Maxwell thinks he can almost hear the click of Cullen's teeth, and whatever it is that's happening would be fascinating if it wasn't so strange. "You," Cullen takes a step forward, then stops, turns, and shuts the doors leading back inside, cutting off the music from within. When he turns back to face Maxwell again, he looks determined and that's, well, it's something.

"You are constantly in the middle of danger and every time you come out of it on the other side, having made things _better_ ," Cullen says, coming to stand in front of him, and "you amaze me," and, reaching up to cradle Maxwell's jaw in his hands, finally, "can I kiss you?"

There's something clever that Maxwell wants to say. Something charming and witty. All he has, though, are the lingering melodies of an Orlesian song and his heart trying to keep time, pounding away in his chest. He'll never have anything better than, "Yes."

Cullen is tentative, almost unsure still, and Maxwell can hardly bring himself to stop smiling, but it's perfect. Lips brush against his own, then down his chin and back toward his neck, following his scar there. Cullen's hand moves to the back of his head, fingers tangling in Maxwell's hair.

There's this giddy feeling, this lightness that threatens to burst out of him. Nothing could have prepared him for this. Maxwell grips the sides of Cullen's uniform top, fingers digging into the fabric, and pulls them closer together. Their noses bump and Cullen breaks the kiss as Maxwell huffs a quiet, almost-laugh. "You said there was someone else," and oh, Maker, that is not what he meant to say.

Cullen is frozen, hands tense where they are still pressed against his skin. "I did, I--" a look crosses over his face that sends ice down Maxwell's spine. "I need to tell you. I _want_ to."

"Yeah?"

"Not here," Cullen says. "When we get back. That's... actually why I was looking for you: Leliana and I decided it would be better if we leave for Skyhold tonight."

"Okay, that's fine, it's," Maxwell swallows around his dry throat, "fine."

There's a smile on Cullen's lips, small but real, and Maxwell darts in, quick, and kisses him again. They're okay.

*

It comes as no surprise that upon returning to Skyhold there is little time to have that talk. There is, however, a lot of time for strategizing and ancient elven mirrors. Maxwell does his best to keep up, but he's fighting a losing battle against the cold, nervous weight in his chest promising to drag him down. There's so much at stake and all of it rests with him, but even he's not sure how much of what he's done has been skill and how much has been luck. He can only be a hero, be depended on for so long before he drowns in it. And with his mind and heart so focused on Cullen, well, he'll just end up dragging everyone else down with him.

When finally he's given a reprieve from planning their next move, it's so late that he has energy enough only to return to his room. But sleep eludes him once again. Instead he sits at the edge of his bed trying to work up the strength to go and find Cullen. Maker only knows when either of them will be free next. With a sigh, he pushes himself up and off the bed. He makes it only as far as the top of the stairs when the door opens at the bottom and, of course, it's Cullen.

"Sorry, I knocked, but..." he hesitates, looking up at Maxwell. For once he's out of his armour. It's nice to see. "Should I leave?"

"No, please," Maxwell says, gesturing for Cullen to join him. However tired he was before is replaced with a nervous energy that has no focus or outlet. He's not sure where he should stand in his own bedroom.

Cullen decides for him, guiding them both closer to the window. Moonlight is a good look on him, Maxwell thinks, but Cullen speaks before he can say it. "I owe you an apology for not telling you this sooner. I didn't think it would matter." His hands are shaking and when Maxwell reaches out to him, he jerks back. "Sorry."

"I shouldn't have. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."

"No, I do." Cullen sighs. "I've told you about my time in the Ferelden Circle? There was this girl... She was, I thought she was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen and when the Circle fell to blood mages and demons, they used her face, her voice, to tempt me. They used her to break me." He starts pacing. "I almost gave in so many times, I _wanted to_ , and sometimes... Sometimes I think just a little longer and I would have."

"Cullen--"

"Please, I need to finish." He stops moving, just out of reach of the light from the window, and Maxwell can no longer see his face where he stands. "When it was over I could still see her, hear her, everywhere. This twisted and dark version of a woman I cared for had been burned into my thoughts. Even now the memory of her haunts me. No matter how much time has gone by there are still days when I'm back there, in that tower. Whatever I felt then is back too. I'm broken and I... I don't know if I can be the person that you want."

"You already are the person that I want," Maxwell says, wishing he'd thought to light some of the candles earlier. Wishing that he was better at this, that he knew what to do.

"You deserve better," Cullen bites out. "Someone who won't have you competing with a memory."

Maxwell reaches for Cullen's hand, then wavers, unsure if he should touch, but he has to. He laces their fingers together and pulls Cullen forward so they're face to face. So that Maxwell can see him better. He needs that. "Listen to me. What happened to you, it wasn't your fault and it doesn't make you broken. You're not weak, Cullen, and if I have to compete with a memory then I will. I fought a dragon for you!

"I," a thousand ways to say this and he only needs one, " _I love you_. You know that, don't you? What I want is _you_. I want you to be happy and I'll do anything to help you see that you aren't broken. Anything. If you want me to leave you alone, I will. If you want me with you, I'll do that too. I just," He shrugs, running out of words, "want you."

Even in the dark Maxwell can see that Cullen's eyes have gone wide. "You love me?"

"You didn't know?" He'd thought everyone knew, he certainly wasn't subtle about it.

The kiss is unexpected and over far too fast. "How are you real," Cullen asks, voice soft, reverent, as he runs his fingers down the side of Maxwell's face, and further, stopping at his heart like he needs confirmation to believe that this is real. Maybe he does.

"I don't know, but I am."

Cullen breathes out as if he'd been holding it for too long. “I want to try this; being with you.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“No,” but Cullen smiles anyway, “I’m never sure with you, but I want to try.”

"Okay." Maxwell nods slowly, waiting for the next hit to come. But it doesn't. “Okay. I want that too.”

It's just him and Cullen and everything that comes after and Maxwell thinks he can figure it all out. When Cullen leans in to kiss him again, more slowly this time, it’s as if he’s trying to make it last or that he’s trying to reassure them. Maybe both. Maxwell has gotten this far and if after all this he can manage to save the world, then there's nothing he can't do. The next kiss lasts longer, and the next, and the next, and it’s only the start.


End file.
